


New Beginnings

by doctor__idiot



Series: 12 Days of Wincestmas 2017 [11]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Pre-Slash, Swesson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-03-01 16:57:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13299195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctor__idiot/pseuds/doctor__idiot
Summary: “Well, I guess there goes my retirement plan,” Dean says on the way out of the city while he white-knuckles the steering wheel.





	New Beginnings

“Well, I guess there goes my retirement plan,” Dean says on the way out of the city while he white-knuckles the steering wheel.

In the passenger seat Sam raises one eyebrow. “You had a retirement plan?”

“You didn’t?”

Sam shrugs. “I didn’t think much beyond how much I hated my job every day.”

“Then why didn’t you quit sooner?”

It’s sort of a ridiculous conversation to have with a man he barely knows but somehow still trusts enough to leave everything familiar, everything _safe,_ behind. Just like that.

“Kinda need money to live. ’s how capitalism works, you know.” Sam’s tone is arid and Dean can’t help himself. A hysterical laugh bubbles out of his throat, to the surface.

“God, this is nuts.”

He is neither talking about the retirement plan nor about capitalism and Sam hums in understanding. However, he doesn’t offer any type of reassurance that Dean made the right choice. The sole fact that he’s _here_ , sitting shotgun while they’re literally driving down crazy street, is somewhat comforting at least.

“I’m gonna miss my 401 k.”

Sam groans. “Would you stop talking about money and retirement? You’re barely thirty.”

“Twenty-nine,” Dean grumbles, making Sam snort. He is mostly trying not to freak out and when he’s trying not to freak out, he rambles.

“You might not wanna talk about money but, uh, in case you hadn’t noticed, we’re kind of fugitives now. No one is gonna believe us about the ghost thing and even so, we very much did steal this car, so–“

“You liked the car,” Sam interrupts without looking up from his phone. God only knows what he’s typing on that thing. Meanwhile, Dean is having an existential crisis. Again.

“Is that what we’re gonna do from now on?” he shoots back, “Take the things we like?”

Sam sighs, long-suffering, but he finally looks up at him. “No. It’s one thing to steal and commit fraud to benefit yourself and another entirely if you’re doing it for the greater good. I don’t think ghost hunting is gonna pay much, do you?”

“Now you’re the one talking about money.”

Sam stares at him and Dean adjusts his grip on the steering wheel. He has to admit that it feels kind of awesome to be driving this car, much larger than the confining interior of his Prius, and even though it’s probably a gas guzzler he’s always had a secret admiration for muscle cars. There is just something about them and for some reason, when he spotted the Chevy in the parking garage, it became his immediate choice.

“As soon as we’re far enough from the city,” Sam begins, typing on his phone again, “we should find somewhere inconspicuous to lay low and figure some things out.”

“You mean like a hotel?”

Sam gives him a pointed look which Dean only registers from the corner of his eye. “I mean like a _motel_.”

Dean nearly applies the brakes. “Oh, hell no.”

“What?” Sam gives a derisive laugh. “We killed a ghost, quit our jobs, left our lives, _and_ became criminals, all in the span of several hours, but you’re worried about _germs_?”

If you put it like that, it does sort of sound ridiculous. And it’s kind of obvious that none of Dean’s routine that he is so used is going to make it to this _new_ life, whatever that may entail. He doesn’t think he’s ever stayed in a motel in his life and he thinks of them as filthy placed, infested with rats, and payed for by the hour by sleazy men, and just the thought of staying in one makes him wrinkle his nose in disgust but he is also weirdly excited. As excited as you could be to sleep in sheets with a thread count south of three-hundred.

It’s not so much the place itself as what it represents. An adventure, if you will. He’s sure Sam with disapprove of him calling it that, that’s why he doesn’t say it out loud.

He continues driving until his eyelids start drooping and the car starts swerving. Sam offers to drive but something inside Dean bristles at the offer.

“I think we’ve made it far enough to stop,” he says and Sam hums acquiescence.

He types something into his phone, then tells Dean to drive another ten miles before making a right turn. They come upon a town that Dean would have been unlikely to set foot in a week ago but now it looks almost familiar to him. Right, in a way.

“Two queens,” Sam says at the front desk and the bored-looking individual behind it replies curtly, “Only got a king left.”

Dean says, “Fine.”

In the room, he strips off his suit jacket and rolls the kinks out of his shoulders, flexes his fingers against the stiffness from the drive.

“Which side d’you want?”

Dean blinks at Sam. “Huh?”

“Of the bed.” There is a strange little smile showing in the corner of Sam’s mouth. Amused patience. “Which side do you want to sleep on?”

Dean thinks it’s an odd question but he answers anyway. “Right. I guess.”

Sam nods and disappears into the bathroom. A minute later Dean hears the shower crank on. Now that he thinks about it, he feels vaguely filthy himself. He only showered yesterday but that already seems like weeks ago to him. It’s funny how your life can be turned upside down in a matter of hours, no prisoners taken.

He sighs and sinks onto the bed, undoing the buttons of his dress shirt. He would have to get new clothes. In fact, he would have to get new _everything_. All he can call his own now is what he is wearing. He pulls his phone out of his pocket, expecting to have endless missed calls and messages, asking where he disappeared to but there is only a reminder for him to take his vitamins and an e-mail in his inbox. It’s from his phone company, congratulating him for his birthday.

It’s still a few days to go but Dean completely forgot about his birthday. It’s not like it matters, not really, but it seemed so important a week ago, his sister planning a party for him.

His sister. He would have to speak to his family sooner or later. Just because they didn’t call today, that doesn’t mean they won’t. He puts his phone away, not yet ready to deal with it all. He unties his shoes and then wiggles out of his dress pants since this is the only set of clothes he has to wear for now and he isn’t going to sleep in them.

He has just slipped under the blanket when Sam exits the bathroom, hair wet from the shower, and with a towel around his waist.

“Why are you not freaked out about any of this?” Dean asks, mostly because he wants to know but partly to distract himself from Sam’s naked torso. It’s a very nice torso.

“I’m…” Sam starts, shifting his weight, “It’s weird, I admit. But you know about the dreams, I told you about them, so … I guess I just kind of feel like I’ve got a purpose. Like I’m on my way to doing what I was always supposed to do.”

Dean mulls that over. He can’t deny that with Sam entering his life, with learning about ghosts and monsters, his existence has suddenly become a lot less boring. But that doesn’t mean that he’s comfortable with jumping into this head-first.

Only, apparently, he is. A rumpled suit, his phone, and a wallet with credit cards he can’t use and about a hundred dollars in cash are about all he has to his name right now and it will be like that for the foreseeable future. At least, until they figure out how to live.

The interesting thing about it all is that if it wasn’t for Sam, he wouldn’t be doing any of this. And maybe Sam is the one who pushed but Dean is the one who went willingly and suddenly it hits him that he is putting a whole lot of faith in someone who, for all he knows, could abandon him come tomorrow.

Sam turns off the light and slides under the covers with a sigh. He immediately, instinctively, turns onto his side, facing Dean. “I know it’s messed-up right now but I’m pretty sure we can figure it out.” He smiles tiredly, “Provided I get some sleep because right now my brain isn’t working anymore.”

Dean’s own mouth curves, returning the smile. He can feel the exhaustion spreading through him and the bed is actually not as uncomfortable as he feared. It’s not even that strange to have Sam so close, sleeping right next to him in nothing but his underwear. It’s rather comforting, really.

“Tell me about the dreams again,” he prompts and for a moment there is nothing. Maybe Sam has already falling asleep. Or maybe he doesn’t want to talk.

Then there is a quiet inhale. “It’s nothing concrete, nothing I can put my finger on. I told you all I know. That monsters are real and that we fight them.”

“Yeah, but,” Dean licks his dry lips, “what am I to you? In the dreams?”

“I…” A pause. “I don’t know. Someone very close to me. Someone I trust.”

“A friend?”

“No.” It sounds certain. “Not in the traditional sense. It’s different. More.”

Dean is tempted to hold his breath. “More how?”

“Dean.” Sam says his name as if it’s not still foreign to him. Like he’s been saying it all his life. “I don’t know.”

“Do you–” Dean stops himself before he asks something he is going to regret. Because this is ridiculous. Because they’ve known each other for days, barely. Because left is right and up is down and it’s all wrong and yet so _so_ right.

“Do I what?” Sam presses quietly and his voice is closer all of a sudden. Dean thinks he can sense him breathe in the mutual space between them.

It’s barely audible when he asks bravely, “Do you wanna find out?”

Sam stays silent for a moment and Dean swallows, acidy panic rising in his chest, but then he feels Sam scoot closer and a second later, his breath brushes Dean’s chin, nose bumping against Dean’s.

“Yes,” he says, “I’d like that.”


End file.
